


Beyond One Life

by PurelyBloom



Series: Beyond One Life [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Choose Your Own Adventure, F/M, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:42:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27154678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PurelyBloom/pseuds/PurelyBloom
Summary: Your father had climbed the ranks of the UN to be one of few prestigious people given the privilege of knowing the top-secret "special representatives;" the mysterious, weird, and endearing pseudo-immortals that called themselves countries. Consequently, from toddlerhood to preadolescence, you had come to know and love those people. Now, after nine years apart, you're following in your father's footsteps to return to their company. But once you arrive, special feelings are beginning to surface for someone in particular. What are you, a mere mortal, supposed to do with this growing flame?
Relationships: America (Hetalia)/Reader, Canada (Hetalia)/Reader, China (Hetalia)/Reader, England (Hetalia)/Reader, France (Hetalia)/Reader, Germany (Hetalia)/Reader, Japan (Hetalia)/Reader, North Italy (Hetalia)/Reader, Prussia (Hetalia)/Reader, Russia (Hetalia)/Reader, South Italy (Hetalia)/Reader
Series: Beyond One Life [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1982116
Comments: 16
Kudos: 46





	1. Prologue

You first met them as a toddler, barely able to walk or speak. Your father, young and ambitious as he was, impressively snagged a prestigious position as a senior UN employee earlier in his career than most. Of course, you didn’t understand anything at the time. Your world was far different from most people, but the extensive traveling, homeschooling, and lack of interaction with people your own age was all you knew. 

That wasn’t a bad thing, either. You were immensely proud of your father’s accomplishments, as well as how your mother took charge of charitable operations across the world. The life you lead until your father’s retirement from that position wasn’t something you would have given up for anything.

One reason for that - no, the biggest reason - was them. Your first memories were somewhat hazy, but you could recall it still; the warm, smiling faces of the men and women you loved so dearly. Few people that worked for them had little children, so you were pretty spoiled by them. You remembered how much you demanded attention, how often you tried (and sometimes succeeded) to escape your nanny to seek them out, how you always tried to sit on their laps on planes. Maybe you were just too trusting as a kid, and your parents surely lamented your lack of sense more than once. But you always felt safe with them. You always knew you could trust them.

Yes, those blissful recollections stuck with you for your entire life, perched on your shoulders as you grew and changed and watched the world ever so slowly turn under you. You felt left behind somewhat, but you didn’t mind. There was nothing you would exchange your isolation for, no matter how bitter and lonely it could be. The memories only became more precious as time wore on, like glittering diamonds that guarded your heart. 

Your experience guided you to where you stood now, at the path that would lead back to the happiness you yearned for. As you watched an airplane roar across the clear blue sky above, sailing past your college campus, you smiled into the wind. The firmament sparkled with the prelude of fall, and in that moment, you made a wish to that cusp of the world, where the deep azure faded into dazzling cyan.

Please. Let me see them again.  
Be it a higher power, fate, or mere coincidence, the passion that burned in your every nerve guided you to where you needed to be without obstacles. It didn’t take long to make it back home through the tumult of life, and soon you found yourself sitting triumphantly at the desk of a recruiter representing the UN, seeking ambitious young souls for internships, which you would take on between your freshman and sophomore years of university.

With exuberant enthusiasm you explained your excellent GPA studying international relations and political science, how your childhood influenced your passion to pursue those degrees, your fluency in multiple languages, and how you wanted to better experience the world as an adult with a deeper understanding of culture and politics. It was hard to keep back a joyous proclamation of your longing for the men and women you had come to love so dearly, that you wanted to see again more than anything. But the man you were interviewing with surely did not know them, so you kept calm and quiet.

When your acceptance letter came, there was immense celebration. Your parents were beyond proud of you, although they were unaware of the depths of your feelings. You couldn't shake the idea that they wouldn't quite understand your intense desire to see those people again, so you kept quiet, presenting the guise that you were only influenced by your father and nothing more. In the nine years you had been apart from the people that held over two hundred fragments of your heart, the wait to begin the internship was the longest.

Finally, the day came that you stepped inside the massive British Embassy in Washington, DC, taking in an example of a prestigious establishment. Your heart was pounding at the familiar surroundings, and it was hard not to give in to the nostalgia of frolicking about the halls so carelessly as you did as a child. You crossed into a threshold of warm dreams and languid memories, and for an instant you were four years old, donning a baby blue dress and pigtails.

But now you were wearing a suit and tie, and you were marveling at the intricate paintings of British landscapes that you would have ignored as a child that hung on the walls. So much was different now, and you knew that you had changed. You were a woman now, and surely no one would recognize you. That was okay. You understood. No matter how closely you stood beside them, your worlds were entirely different.

You wished you had time to linger on those cherished moments, because now butterflies were beginning to churn in your stomach. Your most beloved people didn't often associate with mere interns for security reasons, and it was hard not to despair at how close yet far they remained. Maybe it was cruel, but you would have to pull a few strings to enter the classified territory you had been ejected from when your father retired. Fortunately, you already had an idea in mind.

Your group was ushered across checker tiled floors and under crystal chandeliers, up winding stairs and past arching glass windows, and finally into a modern conference room along a wall of windows that gave a lovely view of the courtyard garden. You met the eyes of Ambassador Henry Gottfried, your father's plump English friend who continued his international work. He had kept in touch with your family, and apparently had gone out of his way to be there to meet you. The stress of work had worn him down some, with receding gray hair and wrinkles you couldn’t recall seeing before, but the kind smile he offered you was the same, and it made your heart skip.

You were home.

After the morning session of orientation you approached him during lunch, and embraced him with glee. Upon closer inspection he had become a bit rounder as well, and there were some spots on his pale, balding head, but that only made him look all the more grandfatherly, and in turn you felt your anxiety settle.

“Look how much you’ve grown!” he said in delight, holding your arms. “It’s been too long, __________. How is your family?”

"Everyone is just fine, Mr. Gottfried," you replied. "But we do miss you. How have you been?"

"Old," he laughed. "I plan on retiring in a year or two. Now that I'm a grandpa, I figured it's good to spend more time with the grandkids."

“Oh, that’s awesome! I’m so happy for you,” you exclaimed earnestly, and he reached into his pocket to pull out his wallet, proudly showing off adorable pictures of toddlers.

After admiring his grandchildren, you sat down and ate lunch together in a cafe near the embassy, talking about your college and how excited you were to begin your internship.

“So, what part of your internship are you most excited for?” he finally asked.

Your heart swelled at the mere thought of your deepest, most intimate desire. You looked down at your food and swallowed. You never told anyone this. Your feelings burned your every nerve with intensity, and it felt nearly impossible to put into words. But with quiet urgency you whispered, “I want to see them again. More than anything in the world.”

“‘Them?’ Who’s ‘them?’” Mr. Gottfried leaned forward to hear you, and maybe detected your desperation.

“You know...the people the public doesn’t know about.” Your voice trembled as you gave away what you cradled so deeply in your heart all your life, finding it hard to speak about it for once. But even so, you felt the weight of your secret easing from your shoulders. You looked into Mr. Gottfried’s eyes imploringly.

“I know it’s selfish on my part to ask, and I know I’m just an intern right now, but do you think you could help me? I….” You swallowed again, pushing back tears. “I want to see them again so badly.”

He leaned back, placed his hands on the edge of the little round table, and sighed. “I see now. I guess they did have a hand in raising you, huh?” He chuckled, reflecting on your childhood antics, and you nodded.

“When Dad retired, I told myself I would work with them someday, just like he did.” Your tone became more urgent now, bolder. You could feel your heart accelerate with tremendous love and admiration. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

“I figured.”

You gasped in shock, taken by complete surprise. “What do you mean?”

Mr. Gottfried smiled warmly. “Well, you didn’t exactly keep it a secret that you missed them. Your father told me all about the tantrums you threw when he retired, and you cried about wanting to see them again all the time. You would say you didn’t need friends your age because you had them. He told me he thought you were motivated by those people.”

You were stunned. You had nearly forgotten about how upset you were when your family exited the political field nearly a decade ago. You had recollections of your fits, but your mother had placated you by explaining how hard the job was on your father. Although, you never once understood what they meant when they tried to tell you that they wanted you to have a “normal” life. There was nothing wrong with your childhood.

“I see.” You turned pink, a little embarrassed to have been caught red handed. “Well, um, do you think you could help me, then? Like, maybe I could help out at a meeting! I’ll do anything. Are any of their other secretaries still working? I’m sure they’ll remember me!” It was hard not to raise your voice childishly, but you felt like opportunity was being dangled in front of your face, and it was beginning to drive you mad.

>If you would like to pursue America, Canada, Germany, or Italy, go to “A Shining Chance.”  
>If you would like to pursue China, England, France, Japan, Prussia, Romano, or Russia, go to “Impatiently Waiting.”


	2. A Shining Chance

Mr. Gottfried leaned back in his chair contemplatively. “I can’t guarantee anything,” he warned. “Usually you need to be many years into a Foreign Services career to have an opportunity to even be near them. Ambassadors have gone their entire careers without knowing them. Your father wouldn’t normally be around them given his age, but he was an ambitious intern. He made a lot of connections, befriended some of them even before he knew who they were. He paved his way to a higher position at a respectable age.” He paused and added with a laugh, “Of course, he worked very hard, too.”

You nodded. Yes, you were immensely proud of his accomplishments. Security and trust were of highest priority to act as a secretary for the nation-people, so achieving that in his mid-thirties was no small feat, especially when he juggled a family and spent so many years studying for a PhD in international relations. And, of course, he volunteered tirelessly, which you had a head start on. From a young age you had a keen interest in helping others, and your parents were more than happy to take you to soup kitchens and churches and hospitals to donate your time. Your altruistic endeavors had looked good on your own application for this internship as well.

“So...is that a no?” you asked timidly, scared to hear the answer.

He held up his hand. “I can’t give you an answer just yet,” he replied, and then he smiled easily. “Like I said, it’s atypical. But you’re atypical, aren’t you?”

His vague words left you at the edge of your seat, and you waited with bated breath for him to continue.

“I’ll see what I can do, my dear,” he concluded, his grandfatherly eyes twinkling. Your heart skipped a beat. “Let me send out some emails today. Mr. Klein still works for them, so I’ll reach out to him about you. Beginner interns such as yourself are given a tighter itinerary than more advanced level interns, but you’ll be traveling all the same. I can see if your schedule lines up to meet any of them. If that’s the career path you’d like to take, there is some training involved. It’d be nice to get a head start, eh?”

You just barely swallowed down a boisterous yell. “Yes, yes, I’d like that very much! Oh, Mr. Gottfried, thank you so much!"

You were so ecstatic you leapt out of your chair and rounded the table to give him a hug. He patted your arm and noticed your watch.

"It's about time we go back to the embassy, my dear," he said, and you helped him get to his feet. You gave him your contact information before leaving, and you felt like you were walking on clouds as you returned to the orientation. You were well aware that he may not be able to help you at all, but so long as there was a chance, you felt satisfied - no, delighted.

The rest of the day was a blur. Your internship coordinator, Mrs. Clifford, explained that the summer would consist of extensive traveling to various UN centers to learn more about the multitude of departments the organization has. For the next week you would be in D.C., getting a chance to meet numerous ambassadors and visiting the many different embassies to see all the careers the United Nations had to offer. 

It was going to be busy, but that was okay. You were desperately trying to talk yourself down from your discussion with Mr. Gottfried earlier, struggling to prepare to be let down, to be disappointed. You needed a distraction.

The first day of orientation drew to a close, and your group walked a few streets over to a nearby inn, generously paid for by the program. The dozen or so interns you were with were chatting excitedly, sharing their ambitions and talking about where they were from, but your thoughts were elsewhere as you headed up to your room and sat on the bed. Being in DC reminded you of how little you cared for meeting the President when you were five, and it brought an amused smile to your face.

But you were especially preoccupied with thoughts of him; after all, you were in his capital. His bright blue eyes, his cheerful demeanor, the glasses you almost broke on more than one occasion, and the blonde hair with the ahoge you’d always pull when it was within reach. His warmth and absolute joy when he played with you was unforgettable. Of course, you were too old and too big to be held now, but damn, you would give anything just to receive one more hug from America.

“Hey, you’re ___________, right?”

You were jarred from your thoughts by your roommate. You looked up at a young woman of African descent and about your age standing over you, with medium brown skin and cornrowed hair that was tied up into a bun. She was wearing a magenta blazer and matching pencil skirt, and she smiled with blindingly white teeth and extended her hand. “I’m Keyanna. Nice to meet you.”

“Oh, right,” you replied absentmindedly, and shook her hand firmly. “I’m __________. Nice to meet you.”

“This is so exciting, isn’t it?” she gushed with an endearing Southern drawl. “I’ve never been to DC before! Have you?”

You nodded. “Er, yeah, a few times.”

“Oh, that’s awesome! I was just wondering if you wanted to go to the National Mall with me and the others? We were talking about it on the way over.”

You barely suppressed a sigh of relief. Your only other plans were to sit and wait in agony for a message from Mr. Gottfried, so her suggestion was the distraction you so desperately needed. “I’d love to!” you replied with a smile.

“Cool! Let’s go change.”

A few minutes later, the two of you had changed into casual clothes and headed to the lobby, where you met up with the others and headed out. Vendors lined the streets to serve dinner, and you bought a small hand sized meal to eat en route to the subway station. You were trailing behind your peers, all chattering excitedly and looking at maps, but for all your effort you just couldn’t muster the same enthusiasm. Your mind was wandering to thoughts of a man named Alfred F. Jones, and those memories were making your heart ache.

You first met shortly after your father became a regional secretary that worked directly for the nation-people: coordinating their travels, meetings, accomodations, and general business expenses. While many countries took on personal assistants, your father started in a jack-of-all-trades position, working more with the assistants themselves. 

You were in New York City for the UN General Assembly, but of course, you had no part in it. Your four-year-old self was pretty confined to the basement levels, left in the care of your babysitter. But shortly before the World Conference started, your father walked you around.

At the time, you were pressing your face to the glass, gawking at the East River as it slowly churned far below where you stood on the thirtieth floor of the building. “We’re so high!” you squealed in delight, watching motor boats pass by. You waved to the people in them.

Absorbed in the scenery, you didn’t realize your father was talking to someone. “Hey, __________. Come here.”

You turned your head curiously and spotted a younger man in a suit and tie beaming down at you. His eyes and hair were bright in color, and you trotted over to your father and clung to his leg, peering up at the stranger cautiously.

“Don’t be shy, __________. This is Daddy’s friend, Alfred. We work together now. Say hi.”

You looked away and pursed your lips. Your parents had been teaching you about stranger danger lately, but if your dad said he was a friend, then it was okay, right? “Hi….” you mumbled quietly.

“Sorry, she’s normally not this shy,” your dad said. “Are you tired, __________?”

“No!” you cried immediately in response, and jumped away before your dad had the chance to grab you and haul you away for a nap.

Alfred laughed. “Don’t worry about it, it’s fine.” He turned to you, then lowered himself to one knee.

“Hi, __________,” he chirped. “I’m Alfred. I like your dress!”

Your lips rounded in surprise, and for a moment you stared at him blankly.

“__________, what do we say?” your father interjected in mild exasperation.

You rocked on your heels, and the words finally clicked. “Thank you,” you mumbled, and Alfred’s grin widened.

Then he turned his gaze to the window. “It’s fun being so high up, isn’t it?”

You nodded tentatively, and he looked back to you. “Well, how about after your daddy and I get done with our meeting, I’ll take you to the very top floor?”

Your eyes widened. That was possible? To go even higher up? “To the tippy top?” you asked incredulously.

Alfred nodded with a chuckle. “To the tippy top,” he confirmed.

“But only if you’re good to your nanny,” your father added with a small smile.

“Okay!” Now you were smiling in absolute joy, your little teeth poking out. How exciting!

Your father checked his watch. “It’s about time to go. Come on, __________.”

Alfred straightened, and you scampered after them towards the elevator, only to stumble and sprawl onto the ground with young clumsiness. You hit your knee hard, but you were too stunned to do anything at first. But then you felt some pain in your legs, and no matter how minimal, you could register that crying was the appropriate reaction.

Yet you didn't have the chance. "Oops!" you heard Alfred say, and you were snatched up in an instant, held to his hip before you could shed a single tear.

"Hey, you're okay," he said confidently, and it made you realize you were okay as he carried you into the elevator.

"Thanks, Alfred," your father said, but you didn't look at him. You were staring at Alfred in wonderment.

He laughed. "Don't worry about it!" He smiled at you, and it was dazzling.

Alfred didn't put you down until you were on the right floor, and from there your father took your hand and led you down the hall to your nanny. He waited for your father at the elevator, and you looked over your shoulder at the bright, sunny man named Alfred until you turned the corner and he was out of sight.

You were antsy throughout the day, but you were obedient to your nanny. Not that you were a particularly troublesome child to begin with, but you were experiencing something new. A desire to see someone again, and not because he was someone you were familiar with. There was just something about him that drew you in, an undeniable charisma. You had never felt that way before. It was something you wanted to explore.

Of course, your thoughts were only in hindsight. As you grew older, you replayed that day again and again, desperate to hang on to every detail to carry you through the tumult of life. But what you remembered most was what came later, when Alfred took you and your father to the roof.

The sun had been setting, and the wind was whipping your hair around. It thrilled you more than frightened you, and maybe it was because you were a child that knew nothing of death, but you liked to think it was because of Alfred. He held your hand so firmly, but not frighteningly so, and his grin was so pure and radiant. It was an unspoken promise to keep you safe, and now as an adult, you wanted to feel it and understand it in the present.

You thought you fell in love that day.

\---

You shook your head to clear it. It wouldn’t be any good to think about him, but you knew how terribly futile it was. Your heart was hurting, and you understood that yawning loneliness would only deepen the following week, when you’d go to New York City and visit the exact building you had first encountered many nation-people in. They often overlapped their conferences with official ones, and there was no such gathering to occur while you were there. You still wanted to go, knowing how empty it would feel, because you hoped that the nostalgia of it all could soothe you as you waited to know the fate of this decisive summer.

“__________?”

Keyanna tapped your shoulder, making you jump. You were walking downstairs into the subway station.

“Uh, what?” you asked, dazed.

“Are you okay?” Keyanna asked worriedly. “You look a little pale.”

“Oh, uh, I don’t like being underground,” you lied. Well, maybe it did make you a little nervous. “But I’ll be okay! I’ve done this before.”

It didn’t occur to you that you were gripping your phone for dear life until it dinged just as you got off the subway at the Smithsonian station. It was an email from Mr. Gottfried.

Dear __________,

I received your itinerary from Mrs. Clifford. I’ll be staying here while you’re gone, but I have emailed some secretaries about your situation and where you’ll be. I hope you don’t mind, but I took the liberty of forwarding your email address to them. It could take a few days for a response. Hang in there and enjoy D.C.!

Best Regards,

Ambassador Gottfried

Your stomach was churning. It was a reasonable and expected email, but you knew you were a fool, and you foolishly hoped that you would be given a chance to jump straight into a joyous reunion.

Well, you weren’t so arrogant that you thought everyone would be ecstatic for your glorious return. You were hardly even a footnote in their lives. But that was okay. You understood that. In fact, it didn’t even matter. So long as you could see their faces for what remained of your short life, you could be happy.

And that happiness is going to start now, you decided firmly as you approached the National Mall with your group. The terrible buzz in your every nerve needed to calm down. You were quite aware of time, and you had enough of it. You needed to remember that. Just a little longer, for just a little longer you had to hold on. After nine years, your deepest desire could be fulfilled, and if not, what was a few more years? Yes, that was the way to think. It was the only way you could think.

You were going to keep thoughts of them in your dreams to nurture, and you would focus on what was before you. You were going to befriend Keyanna and the other interns, you were going to enjoy your time in D.C. and New York, and you were going to patiently wait, because that was all you could do.

Well, you would try to be patient, anyway.

>To continue from here, go to “New York, Same Place”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My America bias shined thoroughly, but I can’t help being so patriotic. Please do not expect weekly uploads; I had this written ahead of time. However I am REALLY excited for this project and hopefully I can write and upload multiple chapters at a time semi-regularly. Also, thank you so much for the support! I was blown away by how many hits, kudos, and comments I got. It means the world to me!


	3. Impatiently Waiting

To your dismay, Mr. Gottfried shook his head. “I’m sorry, __________, but I can’t disregard procedures. You won’t be considered ‘trustworthy’ enough to be with them regularly until several years into a Foreign Services career. Not to say you’ll never see them during your internship, but participating in big events like G7 or G20 meetings is strictly out of your capacity, and the World Conference goes without saying. You’ll just have to wait if you want to be a secretary like your father.”

You felt your heart drop to your stomach, and you fell back into your chair miserably. You knew it was a long shot, and you told yourself time and time again to prepare for this, but the bite of disappointment didn’t hurt any less. “I had to try. Thank you, Mr. Gottfried,” you mumbled.

He reached across the table and patted your hand sympathetically. “You’ve worked hard to be here, so don’t let this get you down. You’ll see them again, maybe even this summer. They all tend to live near government buildings and hang around embassies when things are going on. I’ve even bumped into a few on the streets! It’ll be okay. I promise.

“Now then,” he grunted, standing up. “It’s about time we get back.”

Knowing that there was nothing more you could do, you walked back to the embassy with him, struggling to keep your head up. You found it difficult to focus, because your mind was beginning to fill with fantasies of seeing them again, how none of them would appear any differently, how they wouldn’t recognize you, how they might even be indifferent to seeing you again. But that was okay. As long as you were by their sides, you could be happy.

The first day of orientation drew to a close, and your group walked a few streets over to a nearby inn, generously paid for by the program. The dozen or so interns you were with were chatting excitedly, sharing their ambitions and talking about where they were from, but your thoughts were elsewhere as you checked into your room and sat on the bed. Being in DC reminded you of how little you cared for meeting the President when you were five, and it brought an amused smile to your face.

But you were especially preoccupied with thoughts of him; after all, you were in his capital. His bright blue eyes, his cheerful demeanor, the glasses you almost broke on more than one occasion, and the blonde hair with the ahoge you’d always pull when it was within reach. His warmth and absolute joy when he played with you was unforgettable. Of course, you were too old and too big to be held now, but damn, you would give anything just to receive one more hug from America.

“Hey, you’re ___________, right?”

You were jarred from your thoughts by your roommate. You looked up at a young woman of African descent and about your age standing over you, with smooth medium brown skin and cornrowed hair that was tied up into a bun. She was wearing a magenta blazer and matching pencil skirt, and she smiled with blindingly white teeth and extended her hand. “I’m Keyanna. Nice to meet you.”

“Oh, right,” you replied absentmindedly, and shook her hand firmly. “I’m __________. Nice to meet you.”

“This is so exciting, isn’t it?” she gushed with an endearing Southern drawl. “I’ve never been to DC before! Have you?”

You nodded. “Er, yeah, a few times.”

“Oh, that’s awesome! I was just wondering if you wanted to go to the National Mall with me and the others? We were talking about it on the way over.”

You paused. It was past five, so there was plenty of time to see everything, and now that you thought of it, you never saw any of the monuments at night before. But you were tired, and honestly kind of sad. It was a serious blow to know it would take a long time to see America and the others again, and despite Mr. Gottfried’s encouragement, you remembered that America lived in New York City and not DC. Any hope you had of reuniting with him was dashed, and that made you miserable enough to want to stay in.

>To decline the offer and pursue France, Prussia, or Russia, continue reading.  
>To accept the offer and pursue China, England, Japan, or South Italy, go to “The Far Off Purpose of Existence.”

“Thanks for the offer, but I'm pretty tired. That bathtub is calling my name, you know? I think my high heels gave me blisters.”

Keyanna’s bright smile never wavered. “I totally get it. Tomorrow I was going to go see the Basilica and look around from there. Will you come?”

You nodded; hopefully you could be shaken from your sullenness tomorrow. “Yeah, that sounds awesome!”

A few minutes later, the two of you had changed into casual clothes and headed to the lobby. “Are you sure you don't want to come?” Keyanna asked, joining the rest of the new interns.

You shook your head. “I'm sure, thanks. I'm just gonna grab a bite to eat and lay down. But I'll join you guys tomorrow, I promise.”

“Okay. See you later!” Keyanna left and you turned, heading for the restaurant at the back of the hotel.

After eating, you treated yourself to a warm bath, complete with a soothing candle you had brought. As you soaked and took in the sweet vanilla smell that permeated the air, your thoughts drifted up with the steam. You closed your eyes, your memory still sharp despite the years of separation. Amazingly, you could still recall the first time you met.

Your first encounter was shortly after your father became a regional secretary that worked directly for the nation-people: coordinating their travels, meetings, accomodations, and general business expenses. While many countries took on personal assistants, your father started in a jack-of-all-trades position, working more with the assistants themselves. 

You were in New York City for the UN General Assembly, but of course, you had no part in it. Your four-year-old self was pretty confined to the basement levels, left in the care of your babysitter. But shortly before the World Conference started, your father walked you around.

At the time, you were pressing your face to the glass, gawking at the East River as it slowly churned far below where you stood on the thirtieth floor of the building. “We’re so high!” you squealed in delight, watching motor boats pass by. You waved to the people in them.

Absorbed in the scenery, you didn’t realize your father was talking to someone. “Hey, __________. Come here.”

You turned your head curiously, seeing a younger man in a suit and tie beaming down at you. His eyes and hair were bright in color, and you trotted over to your father and clung to his leg, peering up at the stranger cautiously.

“Don’t be shy, __________. This is Daddy’s friend, Alfred. We work together now. Say hi.”

You looked away and pursed your lips. Your parents had been teaching you about stranger danger lately, but if your dad said he was a friend, then it was okay, right? “Hi….” you mumbled quietly.

“Sorry, she’s normally not this shy,” your dad said. “Are you tired, __________?”

“No!” you cried immediately in response, and jumped away before your dad had the chance to grab you and haul you away for a nap.

Alfred laughed. “Don’t worry about it, it’s fine.” He turned to you, then lowered himself to one knee.

“Hi, __________,” he chirped. “I’m Alfred. I like your dress!”

Your lips rounded in surprise, and for a moment you stared at him blankly.

“__________, what do we say?” your father interjected in mild exasperation.

You rocked on your heels, and the words finally clicked. “Thank you,” you replied quietly, and Alfred’s grin widened.

Then he turned his gaze to the window. “It’s fun being so high up, isn’t it?”

You nodded tentatively, and he looked back to you. “Well, how about after your daddy and I get done with our meeting, I’ll take you to the very top floor?”

Your eyes widened. That was possible? To go even higher up? “To the tippy top?” you asked incredulously.

Alfred nodded with a chuckle. “To the tippy top,” he confirmed.

“But only if you’re good to your nanny,” your father added with a small smile.

“Okay!” Now you were smiling in absolute joy, your little teeth poking out. How exciting!

Your father checked his watch. “It’s about time to go. Come on, __________.”

Alfred straightened, and you scampered after them towards the elevator, only to stumble and sprawl onto the ground with young clumsiness. You hit your knee hard, but you were too stunned to do anything at first. But then you felt some pain in your legs, and no matter how minimal, you could register that crying was the appropriate reaction.

Yet you didn't have the chance. "Oops!" you heard Alfred say, and you were snatched up in an instant, held to his hip before you could shed a single tear.

"Hey, you're okay," he said confidently, and it made you realize you were okay as he carried you into the elevator.

"Thanks, Alfred," your father said, but you didn't look at him. You were staring at Alfred in wonderment.

He laughed. "Don't worry about it!" He smiled at you, and it was dazzling.

Alfred didn't put you down until you were on the right floor, and from there your father took your hand and led you down the hall to your nanny. He waited for your father at the elevator, and you looked over your shoulder at the bright, sunny man named Alfred until you turned the corner and he was out of sight.

You were antsy throughout the day, but you were obedient to your nanny. Not that you were a particularly troublesome child to begin with, but you were experiencing something new. A desire to see someone again, and not because he was someone you were familiar with. There was just something about him that drew you in, an undeniable charisma. You had never felt that way before. It was something you wanted to explore.

Of course, your thoughts were only in hindsight. As you grew older, you replayed that day again and again, desperate to hang on to every detail to carry you through the tumult of life. But what you remembered most was what came later, when Alfred took you and your father to the roof.

The sun had been setting, and the wind was whipping your hair around. It thrilled you more than frightened you, and maybe it was because you were a child that knew nothing of death, but you liked to think it was because of Alfred. He held your hand so firmly, but not frighteningly so, because his grin was so pure and radiant. It was an unspoken promise to keep you safe, and now as an adult, you wanted to feel and understand it in the present.

You thought you fell in love that day.

\---

You heard the door to your room open and close, making you jump as the bath water splashed dangerously close to the edge. Keyanna's return shook you from your thoughts. You looked down at your hands and realized your fingers were remarkably pruny. Well, it was better to get out in case your roommate needed to use the restroom.

So you clambered out of the tub, put out the candle, and prepared for bed. When you exited the bathroom in your pajamas, Keyanna was waiting patiently.

"DC is so cool!" she cried. "I got to see so much stuff! I wish we were here for longer. I want to see everything."

You weren't in the mood to smile. In fact, you were desperately holding back tears. But you were terribly aware that someone like Alfred was a subject never to be spoken about, a taboo outside the population's understanding of the world.

"There's always next year," you suggested kindly in a soft voice, looking away from her. "We'll come back for a level two internship if we do well this year."

Even without looking at her, you could tell that Keyanna was beaming. "Yeah, that's true! I'm so excited. Well, I'm gonna get ready for bed. We start at eight tomorrow, right?"

You nodded, desperately trying to hide the strain in your voice. "Yeah. I'm going to bed now."

"Okay, I'll try to be quiet. Goodnight!"

"Don't worry about it. Goodnight."

But you couldn't sleep. In fact, you took the opportunity to quietly cry while she was in the bathroom. Now more than ever, your dreams felt impossibly far away. Logically, you knew it was on the horizon, close enough to brush with your fingers. Yet the yawning emptiness of their absence tended to eat away at you every now and then, and this was one of those times.

It took awhile to calm down enough to rest, because all you could see was Alfred's smile when you closed your eyes. It was the exact smile you saw when he took you to the roof of the UN building on that fateful day, the day you were on top of the world and tasted the bitter, fishy wind while he held your hand. That moment carried you through so much for your life, and many times your heart swelled with so much love that by now it wasn’t even a debate about your love for him, even at such a tender age.

To know that you were still years from seeing such a sweet, joyous, and pure expression of glee again broke your heart. For how much longer could you bear to only keep it in your mind?

>To continue from this point, go to “The Timeless Calling.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: My America bias shined thoroughly, but I can’t help being so patriotic. But don’t worry, you’re on the right chapter! Please do not expect weekly uploads; I had this written ahead of time. However I am REALLY excited for this project and hopefully I can write and upload multiple chapters at a time semi-regularly. Also, thank you so much for the support! I was blown away by how much traction the prologue got and it means the world to me!


	4. The Far Off Purpose of Existence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I DUN GOOFED AND FORGOT TO NOTE A PLOT DIVERGENCE IN THE STORY. THIS CHAPTER IS FOR THOSE THAT WANT TO PURSUE CHINA, ENGLAND, JAPAN, OR SOUTH ITALY. PLEASE RETURN TO "IMPATIENTLY WAITING" AND READ ALL THE WAY THROUGH TO PURSUE FRANCE, PRUSSIA, OR RUSSIA. I'M SO SORRY!

But when you looked up at Keyanna’s bright smile, you figured that maybe it was best to get your mind off it by accompanying the group. “Yeah, I’d love to.”

“Cool! Let’s go change.”

A few minutes later, the two of you had changed into casual clothes and headed to the lobby, where you met up with the others and headed out. Vendors lined the streets to serve dinner, and you bought a small hand sized to eat en route to the subway station. You were trailing behind your peers, all chattering excitedly and looking at maps, but for all your effort you just couldn’t muster the same enthusiasm. Your mind was wandering to thoughts of a man named Alfred F. Jones, and those memories were making your heart ache.

You first met shortly after your father became a regional secretary that worked directly for the national people: coordinating their travels, meetings, accomodations, and general business expenses. While many countries took on personal assistants, your father started in a jack-of-all-trades position, working more with the assistants themselves.

You were in New York City for the UN General Assembly, but of course, you had no part in it. Your four-year-old self was pretty confined to the basement levels, left in the care of your babysitter. But shortly before the World Conference started, your father walked you around.

At the time, you were pressing your face to the glass, gawking at the East River as it slowly churned far below where you stood on the thirtieth floor of the building. “We’re so high!” you squealed in delight, watching motor boats pass by. You waved to the people in them.

Absorbed in the scenery, you didn’t realize your father was talking to someone. “Hey, __________. Come here.”

You turned your head curiously, seeing a younger man in a suit and tie beaming down at you. His eyes and hair were bright in color, and you trotted over to your father and clung to his leg, peering up at the stranger cautiously.

“Don’t be shy, __________. This is Daddy’s friend, Alfred. We work together now. Say hi.”

You looked away and pursed your lips. Your parents had been teaching you about stranger danger lately, but if your dad said he was a friend, then it was okay, right? “Hi….” you mumbled quietly.

“Sorry, she’s normally not this shy,” your dad said. “Are you tired, __________?”

“No!” you cried immediately in response, and jumped away before your dad had the chance to grab you and haul you away for a nap.

Alfred laughed. “Don’t worry about it, it’s fine.” He turned to you, then lowered himself to one knee.

“Hi, __________,” he chirped. “I’m Alfred. I like your dress!”

Your lips rounded in surprise, and for a moment you stared at him blankly.

“__________, what do we say?” your father interjected in mild exasperation.

You rocked on your heels, and the words finally clicked. “Thank you,” you replied, and Alfred’s grin widened.

Then he turned his gaze to the window. “It’s fun being so high up, isn’t it?”

You nodded tentatively, and he looked back to you. “Well, how about after your daddy and I get done with our meeting, I’ll take you to the very top floor?”

Your eyes widened. That was possible? To go even higher up? “To the tippy top?” you asked incredulously.

Alfred nodded with a chuckle. “To the tippy top,” he confirmed.

“But only if you’re good to your nanny,” your father added with a small smile.

“Okay!” Now you were smiling in absolute joy, your little teeth poking out. How exciting!

Your father checked his watch. “It’s about time to go. Come on, __________.”

Alfred straightened, and you scampered after them towards the elevator, only to stumble and sprawl onto the ground with young clumsiness. You hit your knee hard, but you were too stunned to do anything at first. But then you felt some pain in your legs, and no matter how minimal, you could register that crying was the appropriate reaction.

Yet you didn't have the chance. "Oops!" you heard Alfred say, and you were snatched up in an instant, held to his hip before you could shed a single tear.

"Hey, you're okay," he said confidently, and it made you realize you were okay as he carried you into the elevator.

"Thanks, Alfred," your father said, but you didn't look at him. You were staring at Alfred in wonderment.

He laughed. "Don't worry about it!" He smiled at you, and it was dazzling.

Alfred didn't put you down until you were on the right floor, and from there your father took your hand and led you down the hall to your nanny. He waited for your father at the elevator, and you looked over your shoulder at the bright, sunny man named Alfred until you turned the corner and he was out of sight.

You were antsy throughout the day, but you were obedient to your nanny. Not that you were a particularly troublesome child to begin with, but you were experiencing something new. A desire to see someone again, and not because he was someone you were familiar with. There was just something about him that drew you in, an undeniable charisma. You had never felt that way before. It was something you wanted to explore.

Of course, your thoughts were only in hindsight. As you grew older, you replayed that day again and again, desperate to hang on to every detail to carry you through the tumult of life. But what you remembered most was what came later, when Alfred took you and your father to the roof.

The sun had been setting, and the wind was whipping your hair around. It thrilled you more than frightened you, and maybe it was because you were a child that knew nothing of death, but you liked to think it was because of Alfred. He held your hand so firmly, but not frighteningly so, because his grin was so pure and radiant. It was an unspoken promise to keep you safe, and now as an adult, you wanted to feel it and understand it in the present.

You thought you fell in love that day.

\---

Your focus returned to the world around you as your group descended into the subway station, and it didn’t take long to arrive at the Smithsonian station. The sun was setting beautifully, glimmering crimson and orange with pleasant pink clouds. You wished you could remember if the sunset on that day had been as spectacular as it was now.

The Washington Monument looked particularly striking in front of the sun, and everyone pulled out their phones or cameras to start looking for the perfect angle as you crossed the streets towards it. You decided to go around it and head for the Reflecting Pool opposite of you, and figured you should take a nice picture on your phone to send to your parents.

You absentmindedly kept walking past the other interns, glad you had the forethought to wear a hoodie as a blustery wind cascaded into you from the imposing obelisk. It was mid May, so it would start warming up soon, but the evenings were still cool.

As you stopped to take a picture of the Lincoln Memorial, your contemplative thoughts returned to you. Even after your father’s retirement, you rarely connected with people your own age. It wasn’t that you refused to get along with others or never made friends - it was just that you grew up in an environment where you were always substantially younger than the people around you. You developed a more formal and polite way of speaking, because that was what was appropriate and that was how you often heard your parents communicate. 

You were also rather spoiled because, well, you were cute, and many of your father’s coworkers (average humans or otherwise) and fellow Foreign Services agents were old enough to be grandparents. You reminded them of their own children when they were young, and of the grandchildren they didn’t get to see as often as they liked. Your clumsy motor skills and vocabulary in your youngest years were humorous and endearing, and your mature yet energetic demeanor was impressive as you grew up. You were used to being the darling of the room, and losing all of that in the presence of peers your own age had been a harsh reality check when you stopped being home schooled. As it turned out, most people weren’t instantly charmed by your mere presence.

Of course, that didn’t absolve you of doing troublesome things as a child, mainly wandering off. Your poor nanny probably got her gray hair early because of you and your amazing propensity to slip away right under peoples’ noses. You never did it maliciously, but when you wanted to go out, you somehow always found a way. Even now you couldn't recall doing anything special to escape the rooms you would always be left to study and play in (which, as all spare rooms are, were quite boring). The fact you sometimes even managed to get outside was especially impressive.

I guess I haven’t changed that much, you mused inwardly as you finally reached the end of the pool opposite the Washington Monument, alone in your thoughts as always. You jogged up to the entrance of the Lincoln Memorial and turned. The monument now looked like an obsidian shadow, a perfect black that contrasted beautifully with the colors of the sky. A perfect picture of a solitary structure, and the loneliness of it reminded you of yourself. You had willfully separated yourself from the group, but not because you had a particular urge to do so. You just wanted to do what you wanted when you wanted to do it.

After taking a few pictures, you returned to the edge of the pool and idly looked at your reflection. You always had a reason when you were a child, a motivation. You wanted to explore, wanted to learn, but most commonly, you wanted to be in the presence of those very special people. Even before you understood what made them so extraordinary, you were inexplicably drawn to them, as though you had some sort of instinct that they were special. That was the only reason you could think of that explained why you were so persistent to be close to them when you were still too young to properly comprehend your surroundings.

It was a marvel to see how your motivations had stayed the same, but the methods were different. So many steps you took now were unsure, with no point or drive behind them. There was no reason for you to be standing at that exact spot at that exact moment. But there was a deep, meaningful, and profound reason to be in Washington, DC, and your presence there was the result of years of labor, learning, and yearning.

Your phone buzzed, jarring you from your thoughts. It was your parents replying to the picture you had just sent. It really was pretty, but the sun’s warmth wasn’t soothing you anymore. Maybe it was best to call it a night and go back to the hotel early.

Just minutes later as you passed the Washington monument, you thought that maybe, if only for a moment, you had been touched by the Hand of God.

Shaggy honey colored hair. A messy cowlick. One slight turn revealed a side profile highlighted by small rectangular glasses and a sky blue eye. He turned into your direct line of sight to face someone and pointed, seemingly to offer directions. Blindingly white, sparkling teeth to accompany a sparkling smile. Then he resumed on his path, leaving you behind.

Your heart stopped

Your ears rang.

A seven billion and one chance.

Your feelings were strong enough to flood the earth.

You bumped into someone. “Excuse me.” Your tone was monotone, clipped. Your vision tunnelled. You didn’t look at anyone else.

The crowd was thick with tourists waiting for the monument lights to come on in the field, and residents were walking home from work along the road. Different languages, different colors, different clothing. None of it mattered.

The urgency in your chest threatened to collapse your heart. You scarcely dared to breathe, afraid that this moment was fragile enough to fall apart in the wind. He could disappear if you blinked.

Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me. I don’t want to live without you. Please take me to where all of you are.

The masses continued to grow. His hair, his back was blending in as he walked down the sidewalk, as he made his way across the street. He was molding with the people coming and going, touring and shopping and eating. No, no, this couldn’t happen. It was a problem, in the back of your head you knew it was a problem to think this, but down to your marrow, you thought you would die.

“Alfred….” Your voice was low, meek, unsure. It was too unbelievable, wasn’t it? Despite his circumstances, was it really possible for him to change so little? Could such amazing irony exist in this world?

“Alfred.” You didn’t have the time to doubt. Your stomach was knotted tightly. There were butterflies in your head. But you began to run.

“Alfred-!” You were slithering through the throngs of people. Someone yelled at you as you pushed him out of your way. There was a field before you now, with freshly cut grass down the middle and clusters of trees on either side. He was cutting through it, headed for Smithsonian Station. He could go anywhere once he was in there.

“Alfred!”

>To continue, go to “The Choice of Fate.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Surprised? My Alfred bias shows too much...but I promise you’re on the right chapter! I’m just trying to keep things exciting and kind of mysterious, like “where will things go from here?” Please do not expect weekly uploads; I had this written ahead of time. However I am REALLY excited for this project and hopefully I can write and upload multiple chapters at a time semi-regularly. Thank you so much for your support!


	5. New York, Same Place

It was the day after your fateful encounter with Alfred F. Jones that your father learned the hard way that it was best to hold you until you developed some sense of restraint. As soon as he put you down inside the United Nations Headquarters, you barreled straight for a man with blond hair and glasses that was standing adjacent to you and rummaging through a briefcase.

“Af-ed!” you cried with mischievous glee, stopping just short of running into his legs. You had done that once before and although you couldn’t remember to whom, the chiding you got was severe enough to last for a lifetime. Still, that didn’t stop you from grabbing at the hem of his gray suit and tugging on it. “I wanna go to the top!”

The young man you had accosted jumped in surprise, then turned to face you. It was definitely him - same hair, same glasses, and maybe the same eyes? That funny curl in his hair was now even crazier than yesterday, but it delighted you.

“Wh-What?” he gasped.

“Let’s go to the top!” you repeated loudly. Some heads turned.

He stared at you for another second longer, dumbfounded, before releasing a knowing sigh. “Oh.”

Before you could reiterate your demand for a third time, you heard your father cry out your name in a mix of horror and anger. “__________!” he barked sharply, storming up to you. “That is not how you talk to people! Let go of him right now.”

You released “Af-ed” immediately, shrinking back under the sting of your father’s words.

“I am so sorry, Matthew.” His tone immediately became amicable and sincere when he addressed the other person. “She’s still learning her manners.” He looked down at you. “__________, that was very rude. What do we say when we’re rude?”

You didn’t understand much besides that your father was angry, but you wanted to appease him. “I’m sorry,” you whimpered to him, and the tension in your father’s shoulders relaxed.

“Not to me,” he continued to reprimand. “Grabbing someone like that is wrong, so you should apologize to Matthew.”

“Mattew?” You looked up at him in confusion. Wasn’t that Alfred?

Your father opened his mouth to respond, but a soft voice interrupted him. “No, it’s alright. Don’t worry about it.”

The young man in gray stooped down to one knee, facing you with a kind smile. “You must be __________. My name is Matthew. I’m Alfred’s brother. We look a lot alike, huh?”

Your eyes widened in surprise. “Are you sure?” you blurted.

He laughed and nodded. “Yes, I’m sure.”

“Will you take me to the top?”

Your father sighed behind you, but Matthew’s expression didn’t change. “Well, let’s see...if you’re a good girl today, then I will.”

“Oh, no, Matthew, you don’t have to do that,” your father tried to say, but he waved him off.

“No, it’s okay. She’s very convincing.”

You were jumping on your heels in excitement now. The wind, the sights, the sounds, the smells were still in your memory. You couldn’t wait to experience that again! “I’ll be good, I’ll be good!” you promised.

Matthew stood and nodded approvingly. “Then I’ll see you after the meeting, okay?”

“Okay!”

After that, the day proceeded much as it had before: following your best attempt at good behavior, both Matthew and Alfred accompanied you and your parents to the top of the building, where you felt the breeze against your skin and through your hair, and their hands holding yours. Despite the cold sensation, that was yet another moment forever burned into your memory that shaped your crucial formative years. It was after that you came to know, love, and adore the others, that you came to understand your purpose in this world:

You were meant to stand beside them, until the moment every piece of you crumbled away.

“Hey! Earth to __________!”

You jumped, barely suppressing a small scream. Whirling around from your view of the East River, you saw Keyanna and Vincent laughing at you. “What?” you gasped.

It was your second day in New York City; your group had arrived in the evening yesterday. This marked a little over a week into your internship, and in that time you had come to better know and befriend Keyanna among your other peers. Vincent was a second-generation Italian immigrant from Baltimore, and it was evident in both his accent and curly black hair accompanied by a thin beard and dark eyes. He was equal parts handsome and friendly, though every time you looked at him you would think about Italy and Romano and ponder how their features weren’t as dark. There really was no escape from them, though you excused your wayward thoughts by accounting for your current environment.

“You were totally zoned out,” Keyanna observed, and you flushed. She definitely wasn’t wrong; it felt as though there was no way to free yourself of the onslaught of reveries you were experiencing, though you knew you couldn’t let it get to you if you wanted to perform well on your summer work.

“Uh, sorry.”

“No worries, but you’re gonna get in trouble if you don’t pay attention.”

“Yeah, I know,” you sighed, getting up and following the two, presumably to find a place to eat close by. You were vaguely aware that the morning lecture on the UN General Assemblies held in a small conference room on the second floor had concluded for lunch, but were too lost in thought to act. Now that you were stirred, you realized that you did feel pretty hungry.

“What’s on your mind?” Vincent asked.

You shrugged helplessly, though you were grateful that he cared. “I was just remembering stuff.”

He snorted playfully. “Oh, right, I guess you’ve been here before, Miss Secretary.”

Keyanna lightly shouldered him with a grin, and you smiled. You had earned a bit of a reputation among the interns because your father had worked for the UN, which was discovered when you were spotted having a pleasant chat with Ambassador Gottfried back in DC. Of course, you were careful to say little more than your father was a secretary, offering a half-truth that he oversaw the work and expenses of other UN members, and that you were hoping for the same career.

You stuck your tongue out. “I’ve been here a few times, actually. Although, it doesn’t look like much has changed.”

Indeed, it sometimes seemed as though the entire world had stayed frustratingly stationary while you grew up into something normal, mortal, and human. Sometimes it made you feel crushingly small and insignificant, like a blip on the map of history. Sometimes knowing you were loved, even if forgotten, by those people that had excruciatingly large hearts felt like the only thing that could keep you going. Not that anyone knew that; it threatened to devastate your compassionate parents, and what therapist could possibly understand your emotions towards confidential, immortal beings?

Unaware of your inner ruminations, Keyanna cheerfully pointed out a Shake Shack over on 3rd Avenue, an easy ten-minute walk away. Since you had an hour for lunch, there was plenty of time to enjoy a simple, all-American meal. Thinking about it made your mouth water.

It still wasn’t quite hot yet, but the river pressed its humidity against your back, making you glad you wore a black blazer over your cream button-down blouse to conceal sweat, and the fishy, oily breeze felt good against your knees and down, the rest covered by a matching dark pencil skirt. Though now you had to take care to not make a mess….

As you ate, you again recalled slivers of memories of the area and going out to eat with America and Canada while in New York. Actually, you had gone out with just about everyone at one point or another, but being in Alfred’s hometown directed your thoughts mostly towards him, though wayward flutters of thought drifted to Matthew as well. The two of them really felt like big brothers when you were young, though now you identified your feelings as something much deeper, intensely more intimate, and all yours. They were no longer brothers, but they weren’t romantic, either - that was a disaster you knew to avoid at all costs - and it wasn’t just platonic. It was simply much, much more, and it simply made you happy.

You started to wonder if there really was a chance to see anyone again as Mr. Gottfried had mentioned. Alfred lived in Manhattan, but you didn’t know exactly where, and you knew better than to ask. You didn’t want to be creepy in your approach, especially when you were already slightly fearful that you would be considered strange for wanting to take your father’s place in their lives. Your inability to be open to anyone about this obsession you knew was questionable could be quite crushing in its lonesomeness.

The day meandered along, though you perked up at an announcement at the conclusion of your meeting.

“Alright, tomorrow we’ll vote on where everyone would like to go next,” quipped your travel coordinator, Mrs. Clifford. The traces of wrinkles hinted that she was late-fifties, and she always wore her blond hair up in a professional and tight bun that didn’t dare let a single hair stray in the line of sight of her blue eyes. She was a very enthusiastic woman and understandably strict of her charges. Any horsing around would be grounds for immediate dismissal of the program without a chance for a future opportunity, and you had a feeling she took that very seriously.

She continued, “All of the departments participating in this year’s internship program are coordinating with other programs of different levels and from different countries, so they’re ready for us at any time. However, because you’re all level one interns, you get the last pick. Your choices are Montreal, Bonn, or Rome. You have until the end of class tomorrow to decide. Please work together and vote on your visits of choice, but remember, we will go to all of them eventually.”

With that, she finished gathering up her things and whisked away, hitting the switch to raise the curtains as she left. Intense red-orange light poured into the room from the wall-length windows, casting deep shadows on everyone’s faces as laptops and notebooks were put away.

The young man across from you spoke up immediately. “We should decide right now since we’re all here anyway.”

Some sighs passed through the rooms from students in stuffy clothes and with growling stomachs, but no one moved to disagree. A girl volunteered to count the votes, tearing out a sheet of notebook paper and quickly scribbling the locations down. It occurred to you that with sixteen students, one person could be the deciding factor.

“Alright, I’ll start. Raise your hand if you want to go to Bonn.”

He raised his own hand, and four others followed. You shrunk in your seat as the girl started her tallies.

“Okay, Montreal?”

More hands, equal to Bonn.

“And Rome.”

Yet another equal amount. Everyone noticed right away, without needing the girl to say anything. Suddenly, you could feel eyes boring into you as intense as the sun on your back, despite staring at your hands on your lap.

You didn’t care where you went. You didn’t care about the facilities in each unique city; you had been to all three already in your life. You didn’t have a passion for climate change response or civil aviation or agricultural development. You didn’t want any of the kinds of jobs your peers yearned for.

“I’ll make up my mind tomorrow,” you swore quietly.

Fortunately Vincent, who was beside you, clapped your shoulder. “No problem! We’re all adults here. Since we’ll go everywhere, it doesn’t matter what comes first.”

“But I don’t want to be stuck going to Rome in July,” a girl protested, crinkling her nose. “It’ll be too hot! I’ll sweat straight through all my clothes.”

Her point was well taken, but Vincent quipped, “Then don’t wear your expensive stuff. Relax, Italians expect you to dress light for business.”

The girl muttered, “You’re not even from Italy,” before quickly getting up and leaving. It was awkwardly quiet for a moment, but soon everyone shuffled out of the building, pouring into the endlessly busy streets of New York City alone.

“Ugh, don’t listen to her, either of you,” Keyanna spat. “Please, we’re supposed to be young professionals but she’s acting like a kid. If she does that again I’ll tell Mrs. Clifford.”

“Ooh, tattle-tale,” Vincent teased, unfazed.

Keyanna flipped her hair dramatically. “No, I just expect professionalism from potential UN leaders. God knows an organization for world peace needs a Karen.”

They laughed, but your mind was occupied. How were you supposed to choose where to go?

>To go to Montreal, go to ‘No Time for Festivals.’

>To go to Bonn, go to ‘Visit With a SPIDER.’

>To go to Rome, go to ‘Emboldened and Brash.’


	6. The Timeless Calling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I DUN GOOFED AND FAILED TO MARK A DIVERGENCE IN PLOT. THIS CHAPTER IS ONLY FOR THOSE THAT WANT TO PURSUE FRANCE, PRUSSIA, OR RUSSIA. PLEASE REREAD "IMPATIENTLY WAITING" UP TO THE DIVERGENCE THEN TURN TO "THE FAR OFF PURPOSE OF EXISTENCE" TO PURSUE CHINA, ENGLAND, JAPAN, OR SOUTH ITALY. I'M SO SORRY!

However large the emptiness in your heart was, you had to wait. Time was surely your greatest enemy in more ways than one, and it was suffocating to be so helpless to it. Every day made you feel so weary, yet the promise that it had the potential to pay off kept you going, sunrise after bitter, lonesome sunrise.

You focused intensely on your goal, more motivated than ever. You aced your internships, threw yourself into your classes, took up a student administrative job during the school year, and made sandwiches for the homeless before dawn once a week, with additional charitable work during winter and spring breaks. It was exhausting with little reprieve, but there was also a sense of exhilaration. All of it was meaningful work, benefitting your community and helping you to realize your aspirations.

Even so, on those summers of exotic travels, you were repeatedly disappointed. The insidious years hadn’t fulfilled a surprise reunion like Mr. Gottfried convinced you to hope for, though fortunately you were able to keep in contact with the ambassador and his successor, Mrs. Miriam Bonds, who replaced him when you were a college junior. She was a friendly and competent British-born Chinese woman that you considered a friend, despite how rarely you spoke and the twenty years she had on you. Actually, in hindsight, she made you think of a spunky aunt whenever you thought of her.

Of course, Miriam didn’t exactly have all the time in the world for you, but she knew of your circumstances and joked about how she hadn’t known Arthur Kirkland and company until she was appointed ambassador by the Crown. “You’re more qualified than me!” she once chortled while you were on your third internship in London, having dinner with her at a restaurant (unfortunately, Arthur was out of the country). “You could probably bring them all together to get things done better than any diplomat.”

Such words made you flush with anticipation and pride, though she then lowered her voice, beckoning and foreboding. “But there’s one thing I’ve thought about. I’m sure they were all on their best behavior around you because you were a child, but I need you to understand that they fight a lot. They can be really hard to manage. You need a strong spine to work with them. I don’t want you to be disappointed later.”

Your back straightened and you smiled politely. “I appreciate the concern, Ambassador, but I’m prepared for that. When I told my dad what I wanted to do with my career, he told me the constant fighting was one of the reasons why he retired. It really stressed him out. But I’m different,” you boldly declared.

“He wasn’t prepared for them because he didn’t even know they existed. But I know, and I used to see it from time to time if they didn’t think I was there.” You giggled, then concluded, “No matter what, I want to work for them. I know that they’re all very good people, and they were always good to my parents. Before I had to leave, the other assistants told me they were good to them, too, so I know that some in-fighting won’t bother me.”

Miriam regarded you closely, as though probing you for an ulterior motive in case you were a clever terrorist. Or maybe she just thought you naive. Well, you were starstruck, but not ignorant; if everyone’s relationships improved simply because you were there, that would be quite the dream come true. It only took one person to change the world, for better or worse, and as a reflective adult you believed that your child self kept everyone in line to a degree. So maybe, just maybe, you could leave behind a genuine impact in their long, long lives that promised they’d remember you. That kind of thought gave your life purpose.

Eventually, the ambassador took a long sip of her tea, then smiled. “I can see how seriously you take this. I think they'll be in good hands with you.”

You beamed, unable to ignore how that made your heart skip a beat. “Thank you!”

Now it was June, but the temperature was pleasantly mild as cool winds cascaded down the slopes of the snow-capped Alps. You looked out across Lake Geneva, admiring the Swiss city stretched out before you in all its peaceful, yet bustling glory. The air was fresh and clean, and you inhaled until your lungs threatened to burst. Unfortunately, despite the blindingly bright blue sky and cheerfully chirping birds, your innards were twisting and shriveling in every terrible manner.

“There you are! It’s fortunate your flight was only delayed an hour, isn’t it?” Miriam greeted you warmly on the paved sidewalk directly in front of the Celestial Sphere Woodrow Wilson Memorial, making her way through the large collection of people gathered in Ariana park to enjoy the early summer day despite it being midday on a weekday. She stuck out like a sore thumb, foregoing casual clothing for a tight black tea-length dress with matching heels and glossy hair pulled back into a tight bun. Everyone around you was in merriment, but you just couldn’t share the sentiment.

The smile on the ambassador’s face waned. “You look green, __________.”

“I think I’m gonna pass out.” Your voice was shaky.

“Now, now, none of that.” Miriam clapped her hands on your shoulders and steered you towards the Palais de Nations*, an intimidating monolith of charming European architecture you could hardly bear to look at. “You’ve been looking forward to this for ages, my dear! Aren’t you excited?”

You begrudgingly let her usher you past the lines of flags and into the building for a quick security check. At the other end of the long, sparkling hallway that dawned impressive artwork or landscapes and portraits of political figures, there was an opening back into daylight. Knowing what was beyond, you slammed to a halt.

“Miriam.” You rarely addressed her so informally, but your mind was buzzing and you couldn’t think straight. “How do I look?”

She seemed a little surprised by the question, but after a slight pause she cupped your hand and patted it affectionately. “You look positively radiant, my dear. Swear it on my life.”

You took another deep, deep breath. Thanks to the delay to Geneva you had little time to get ready after rushing to change into a yellow gingham dress and wedge sandals with straw-colored sun hat after checking in to your hotel, since you were already somewhat late. You were absolutely in love with the feminine yet classy style of the garment, reaching just past your knees and complemented with ruffled white chiffon across the off shoulder straps and your chest, concealing any scandalous trace of cleavage. The fitted bodice accentuated your hips perfectly, leaving no doubt that you were now grown.** It really was perfect, yet you were strongly tempted to run and hide in the restroom you saw at the corner of your eye.

“My hair and makeup aren’t too messy?” you continued weakly. Struggling to get everything smoothed and applied just right proved to be quite the struggle in the cab rides from the airport to the hotel and then to the venue, and you hardly felt as glamorous as you wanted to be. Even so, Miriam assured you once again that you looked lovely.

For a moment the two of you stood together as you tried to recover your wits and stop your hands from sweating so much as you tightly grasped a white handbag. It was customary for the people you were about to work for to meet up at least once a year for fun and not politics. Sometimes it would happen during the holidays, but not always. Thanks to the spacious courtyard behind the Palais de Nations as well as its prime location for the European countries, it would host these events often, though Washington DC was apparently the second most frequent location for such revelry. If only! Then maybe you wouldn’t be fashionably late to your own debut.

In your most self-centered dreams you liked to imagine yourself sauntering back into their lives as if it were no big deal, at an event just like this (you did have recollections of going to these ages ago), causing a racket with your glorious return. But now that you actually were going to reappear unannounced, you never wanted to disappear more. According to Miriam, everyone knew that the replacement for Mr. Gunter Althaus, one of just six secretaries that oversaw the travel and meetings of the confidential diplomats (one for each habitable continent, though there was much overlap in duties and it wasn’t required that one oversee his or her continent of origin), had been chosen, but they didn’t know it was you.

You had reunited with Gunter and met the others in your virtual interview process, but even you knew it was a mere formality at that point. You had multiple letters of recommendations ranging from the aloof professors of political science and international relations to the knowledgeable former Ambassador Gottfried and his successor. There was no one, not one person in the whole world, more qualified than you - or at least you liked to think that.

Now you were to meet your new coworkers formally - all of them, and you weren’t sure your heart could take the strain. “I just know I’ll burst into tears as soon as I see them,” you warned, stomach bubbling uncomfortably. “And then they’ll think I’m crazy because I know they don’t remember me!”

Again, your shoulders were grasped firmly, forcibly bringing your attention to Mirim’s stern face. “None of this ‘poor me’ attitude, alright? I know you’re nervous, and that’s perfectly fine. But think of how happy you’ll be in just a few minutes!”

That was a comforting way to put it. After taking another moment to collect yourself, as well as stealing a sip of cold water from the nearby fountain, you figured you were as ready as you could be.

“That’s it, love,” Miriam cooed as she gently led you the rest of the way to the arched doorway ahead of you, blinding you with sunlight and the sounds of casual conversation.

You were grateful that you wore a hat, preventing you from making too funny a face as your eyes adjusted to the light that you swore wasn’t as hot as it was just minutes ago. The courtyard was neatly trimmed, without a trace of leaves from the massive trees that hung at the edge, offering a bit of shade. Unassuming white tables were lined with food and drinks at the far end, and a few extra tables with chairs were scattered across the lawn under tents. In the middle was a small but charming fountain, the gentle bubbling sound it made drowned out by cheerful chatter that made your ears ring. There were faces and bodies you immediately recognized, but there were numerous dignitaries as well. It was certainly possible you knew some of them, but admittedly you didn’t pay much attention to the average human growing up.

With a jolt, a memory flooded over you, and your cheeks burned. “I jumped into that fountain once,” you muttered. “I got bored at one of these things and dived right in.”

Miriam stared at you, then burst into laughter. “For once I wish I was older! I would have loved to see that!”

So she said, but you still remembered receiving the scolding of your life after your father hastily fished you out of the fountain and your mother rushed you to the restroom to vainly attempt to salvage your appearance. Everyone else apparently found it hilarious, at least. Though now you were fairly certain your father made sure no one (namely America and Denmark) laughed in front of you lest you considered becoming a repeat offender.

Her voice drew the attention of a painfully familiar face, and suddenly your heartbeat was pounding in your ears.

“Ah, there you are.” Arthur Kirkland, of course, hadn’t changed a bit in thirteen years. He had the same shaggy yellow hair, dark and thick eyebrows, the same green eyes, the same posh accent that always regarded you so gently, even seconds after snapping at someone else, just barely restrained of obscenities for your innocent sake.

You couldn’t decide if you wanted to cry, hug him, or pull your hat low over your eyes and pretend you weren’t there as he and Miriam firmly shook hands. For the first time, you realized how suffocating your nostalgia was with dreadful clarity. While not often, his hands had held yours, had held your small body to his hip, had wiped away tears after scraping your knee. Yet to him, such treasured moments likely meant nothing to him, and were already too far gone to recall again. It was dizzyingly sad, but you chewed the insides of your cheeks to ground yourself, halting the spiral of melancholy you didn’t foresee when you imagined seeing him - all of them - again.

“And this is that ‘special VIP’ you told me about?” Arthur’s attention turned to you, and you froze as he raised a brow quizzically. He was dressed business casual, in a long sleeved white button-up and gray slacks, and to your own surprise you realized that his clean clothes yet untrimmed hair made him look dashing in an almost rugged way. Was he always so handsome?

He extended his hand and it took a polite elbow from Miriam to react appropriately. Damn it, you were sweating so bad!

“She sure is!” Miriam replied, beaming.

Your throat was completely dry, yet you somehow managed to squeak out a pathetic, “__________.”

“Arthur Kirkland, nice to meet you.” He looked to the ambassador again as he dropped your hand. While his voice was still clearly within earshot, it dropped as though to exclude you. “A bit young, don’t you think?” Indeed, it just wasn’t probable for you to be among his classified kind.

Miriam was unfazed, in fact she seemed to be thoroughly enjoying this, although you started to think she was less happy for you and more amused by you. “I told you, she’s very special!”

“How so…?” His voice dripped with doubt, but you didn’t blame him.

You stiffened again, head spinning. This was it, the next chapter of your life. Your hard work was going to pay off at this exact moment. You turned your gaze to Miriam, and she nodded encouragingly. You felt faint again, but you took a breath and set your jaw.

“Arthur.” You could finally say his name again, to him. Just his name was like a shot of adrenaline racing through your veins. You finally composed yourself and smiled, albeit with a touch of hesitation.

“Actually, we’ve already been acquainted,” you explained, opening your handbag. Inside was your most precious possession: a picture of you with the former G8***, the last meeting you attended before your father’s retirement. Everyone looked happy enough, including your ten-year-old self, but that day was a miserable one. The picture itself was slightly creased, but you were agonizingly careful with the original digital image, saved on a memory card you kept in a safety deposit box until you needed it for the numerous images of you with the nation people inside. You reprinted this particular one for this exact moment, though it was so ingrained in you to keep it close that it was almost hard to turn it over to him.

Arthur seemed absolutely bewildered, but before he could ask questions you explained. “Do you remember that little girl one of your secretaries had? It was a little over ten years ago, and, well...she’s grown now,” you added that last part a bit bashfully, offering the picture to him. “And she wanted to see you all again.”

He didn’t even need to see the image. His eyes grew wide as saucers and he sputtered, “Wait a tick...__________?”

To continue, go to “Reunion.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * The Palais de Nations is the European headquarters of the UN located behind Ariana Park. It’s stupidly big and unfortunately I couldn’t find enough pictures to really understand it’s layout, so we’re going to assume it has a rear courtyard.
> 
> ** This is actually a real dress! I own it and I love it. Bonne Chance Collections is a small business in Arizona and I can vouch for the dresses’ quality (I have multiple) and customer service. Very reasonably priced, too. https://bonnechancecollections.com/products/sweet-sunshine-lola-dress
> 
> *** In 2014 the G8 expelled Russia and became the G7 as a result of the annexation of Crimea. While this story takes place in modern times, I don’t want to tack an exact year on it save for this indicator that this takes place after 2014. You can see this story as taking place in a world where COVID-19 didn’t happen or after vaccines have been widely distributed and everything’s returned to normal. I do not intend to even mention the pandemic because of it’s sensitive and political nature, and I originally came up with this story around 2018. This story is not a political one. I’m not here to lecture you, I’m here to have nostalgic fun. Thank you for understanding.


	7. The Choice of Fate

He heard you. Alfred finally spun around, eyes wide in bewilderment, maybe even with a touch of fear. It made sense. Regular people weren't supposed to know him, so to be called out in public must have been quite the shock. The rarity of this moment was unprecedented, and that was why you knew to cherish every breath, every particle that buzzed around you.

Adrenaline was making your fingers tremble, and you couldn't stop the tears from forming in your eyes. “I'm...sorry,” you gasped, fumbling for your phone in your jeans. On the back was a pocket with your ID and credit card, as well as a small paper delicately folded in half.

“I didn't mean to startle you,” you continued, offering the paper to him as you caught your breath. “I don't know if you remember me, but my father...he worked for all of you. When I was little.”

Swallowing down the lump in your throat, your mouth went dry as you opened the parchment, revealing a priceless artifact. It was a picture, one of the last you had been able to take before your father’s retirement. You were ten and in a dress, standing happily beside your dad. Surrounding you were the members of the former G8* - but not the public attendees. Alfred was to your immediate left, sparkling with joy as always.

He gazed at it carefully, digesting the information. In that pause, you felt like you were tumbling between indecisions, unsure whether to speak more or stay quiet.

Before you could make up your mind, Alfred’s gaze snapped back to you. The surprise grew, then morphed into an expression that set your heart ablaze - recognition.

“No way!” In an instant, you were nearly tackled in a hug. You yelped on reflex, but you had dreamed of this moment on more than one occasion, hoping against hope that you could feel his heat again, feel an embrace that spoke of hellos compared to the bittersweet goodbye you received from him nine years ago.

Your exclamation became a squeal as he lost the composure to keep your feet on the ground. As you threw your arms around him he spun in a half-circle, carrying you for a second and no more. You smiled with your whole heart, feeling the weight of loneliness shake off with his momentum.

It was too brief. He pulled away and eyed you from head to toe. He was dressed casually, in a red hoodie and jeans similar to you. You hadn’t often seen him in anything less than professional, so it stuck out to you. Oh, how fortunate you were to have seen him in the crowd. Certainly, it was more than coincidence.

“I can’t believe it’s you!” Alfred’s voice was as booming as ever, but you didn’t mind. It carried comforting surrealism. “You’re all grown up!” He planted his hand on your head and ruffled your hair, a familiar gesture that almost made you burst into sobs then and there, but you managed to smile and laugh even more instead.

“I am,” was all you could mutter as you choked back tears. “I didn’t think I’d see you here. Are you still living in New York?”

“Yeah, I was just visiting for business, but what the heck are you doing here?”

You cleared your throat, giddy and barely restraining yourself hopping from foot to foot. “I’m in the UN internship program!” your voice was far louder than necessary, but you couldn’t contain yourself.

“Are you serious?” His mouth fell open, but there was no maliciousness to be heard. After a second, he seemed quite pleased. “Well how about that! That’s great! Man, what a coincidence we met up like this.”

“Right?” you shouted, then quickly covered your mouth, flush with embarrassment. However, he chuckled.

“U-Uh, I mean,” you rushed, “I actually met with Mr. Gottfried today and talked about seeing everyone again - because I want to be like my dad - but he told me I’d have to wait. I thought I’d have to stick it out for the next few years and get a full-time job, so I’m so happy to see you. I didn’t think I would for...for a long time.”

Alfred’s eyes sparkled with mirth and kindness. “It’s great to see you, too! But man, it’s kind of weird hearing you want to take your dad’s place. We’ve never had the kid of a secretary try to get the same gig.”

“It’s...weird?”

“Not at all!” his response was immediate, enthusiastic, and reassuring. Maybe he hadn’t even noticed what he said. That seemed like him. To your shock, he then took your hand. It wasn’t the gentlest touch, but it was kind and sent a wave of nostalgia crashing over you. “You hungry? I could use a bite to eat. Let’s go catch up!”

You flushed. Truthfully, you weren’t hungry at all, but you didn’t hesitate to nod.

“Sweet! I know this great vendor nearby, and he’s got the best ice cream!” With that, he led the way.

As you walked beside him, you realized you were gaping at him. Snapping your mouth shut, you used his hand as an anchor to keep you grounded to reality. This was real, he was here and you were with him. It felt too good to be true, and it was difficult to not squeeze with all your might.

As the hazy fog of euphoria began to clear into the dusk, your clasped hands started to take on a rosier color. As much as the feeling reminded you of your childhood, being gently guided to and fro by Alfred among others (particularly when you were caught wandering unsupervised), you were acutely aware that now you resembled the same age.

“Does your driver’s license still say you’re nineteen?” you blurted.

“Yep,” Alfred replied with a humored smirk. “And I still wish my boss would let me change it to twenty-one.”

You laughed, but the pressure of age threatened to cleave away your arm. Anyone would assume the two of you were a couple, and why wouldn’t they? You would, too. It just wasn’t common for people to platonically hold hands in America. Yet you were going to grow older still, while he wouldn’t age a day-

Your foot hit an uneven slab of pavement and you stumbled forward, but Alfred quickly pulled you upright.

“I thought you’d be a little less clumsy when you got older,” Alfred teased, and you smiled sheepishly.

Those intrusive thoughts had been buried deep inside of you, and you were desperately stomping them down again. There was no avoiding the inevitable, but you were determined to focus on the presence, on his striking face as the orange hue of sunset cast deep shadows along his cheek.

There was not a doubt in your mind that you loved Alfred dearly, but for a brief moment you were captivated by a handsomeness you hadn’t known as a prepubescent child. But you also knew with certainty that your love was not, would not, could not be romantic. It was not a daughterly or sisterly or familial bond, but something precious, something special, and something that belonged to you and you alone.

“I resent that. I’ve practiced walking in heels a lot for this internship!” you replied.

He apologized merrily, and together you rounded the corner. The smell of sizzling meat and fat soon reached your nostrils, and a small food stand was soon in sight, teetering between the sidewalk and the busy road.

“Get whatever you want,” he offered, opening up his wallet and ordering a burger and fries with a drink.

“You really haven’t changed,” you mused affectionately, and moments later your hands were now filled with his fries and an ice cream cone. You could think of several people that would call it rude to make you hold his food, but in this dreamy runion, there was nothing wrong. “I feel like I can hear England yelling at you for this.”

Alfred groaned good naturedly after taking a sip of Coca-Cola. “Yeah, I know. Anyway, you sure you’re good with just that? I thought you said you were hungry.”

You shrugged. “Actually, I ate just before running into you. But this ice cream is really good! Thank you.”

The two of you crossed the street and found yourselves in a small park with sparse trees and some benches lined under the lighted street lamps. In the center was an unoccupied gazebo, and you sat down across from each other. Offering him back his French fries, the two of you enjoyed your meals with comfortable companionship.

“So, how is everyone else?” you asked.

“Aw, same old, same old,” Alfred said between bites. “What about your folks?”

“They’re fine. Mom’s been the president of a local charity for a couple years now, and dad’s a professor.”

“That’s good to hear! And you know, I’m kind of surprised to be honest. I mean, I get wanting to work for me, but you really wanna be around all those old farts again?”

You giggled. This was the Alfred you knew, the one you had loved so intimately for fifteen years. Loud, arrogant, nosy, yet he was equally vocal in his kindness and compassion. You knew his words were only in jest. “Actually, I’d like that very much.”

He hummed thoughtfully, finishing up his food while you began biting into the wafer cone. “Well, let’s see...I know I would hire you, but it’s not like I get to decide that kind of thing. Plus you’re still in school, and there’s no workaround for that. You’d have to wait until graduation, at least, but that’s never been done.”

You glanced down, trying to hide your bittersweet smile. “Yeah, I know,” you sighed.

“But!” Alfred snapped his fingers in excitement. “You’ve already cleared a big hurdle, and that’s knowing about us. I think you’ll be all set as long as you keep doing well in school and keep up with your internships.”

“You sound just like my dad,” you mused with a roll of your eyes, and he chuckled.

“How about this then?” He leaned forward in his seat excitedly. “Send me your resume and I’ll see if there’s something I can do.”

Your heart almost fell out of your chest. “Really?”

He reached out to pat your head affectionately. “Sure! I mean, I can’t have you start now, but I can at least let the guys up top that handle the recruiting know about you. I mean, you’ve made it this far, right?” He winked.

You took a deep breath, collecting your tumultuous thoughts. Only one thing threatened to tear you down from your high, no matter how reasonable it was. “Um, that would be amazing! Thank you so much! I - I know I’d have to wait no matter what, but, er, that doesn’t mean I can’t ever see you again until then, right?” Your voice dropped from exuberant cacophony to low hesitance. If Alfred left you now, you weren’t sure you could find the strength to even stand.

Fortunately, he seemed empathetic of your uncertainty. “‘Course not! Here.” He fished his phone out of his back pocket. “Let me give you my number and email.”

It took every ounce of willpower to keep your hands from trembling as you punched his contact information into your own phone. For so long you had yearned for him, dreamed of him, and now he was right here in front of you when you least expected it. There was so much more you wanted to say and do, but it was like your mind had completely shut down.

After exchanging information, Alfred took note of your surroundings. “Sun’s almost gone already? Kinda feels like it’s only been a few minutes since we met up.”

You were suddenly aware of a chilly night wind passing between you. Looking up, the sky was indigo and violet, a half moon and some stars glimmering among the lights of the capital.

He stood and beckoned you with a jerk of his head. “C’mon, let me walk you back to your hotel.”

Begrudgingly, you headed out of the park, walking side by side with him. Admittedly you were a little lost, but Alfred had no trouble navigating your way back to the subway station you had come from.

Along the way, you became acutely aware of how cold and empty your hand felt, and you felt your cheeks grow hot. You weren’t a child anymore, and you were again reminded of the romantic undertones, yet you were also aware that it could be quite some time before you saw him again. You were standing at the precipice of a yawning chasm where you would be forced apart once again. That fear outweighed your embarrassment.

“Hey, Alfred?” Even so, your voice was small. He looked at you questioningly. “Can we, um...hold hands again?”

He blinked in surprise. Maybe he hadn’t even realized that he had walked hand in hand with you earlier. After a couple paces you were worried you spoke out of turn, and opened your mouth to apologize, but he gave you a mesmerizing, blissful smile and delicately clasped your hand once more. Your heart skipped a beat.

As the last traces of the sun dipped below the city skyline, you walked together in that manner until you reached the subway station. The crowd was smaller than before, now lacking the businesspeople, so the two of you were able to be in your own bubble, knees touching. It took every ounce of your willpower to resist the temptation to lean your body against his, to grow closer still, knowing he would soon go away again.

Once you sat, the two of you chatted idly, mostly about yourself - the university you were attending, your studies, how boring your life had become once your father retired. With the promise you wouldn’t post to social media (and the assurance you rarely utilized social media to begin with because you were simply too busy), he let you take a selfie with him, which made you overjoyed.

The day finally had to come to an end. By the time you reached the hotel, the sun was completely gone, and streets were far more sparse of people than people, giving the entire world a cold, isolated sensation.

“Will I see you tomorrow?” you asked.

Unfortunately, Alfred shook his head. “Sorry, but I have a morning flight to catch tomorrow. I’m heading back home.”

Not willing to let any more chances pass you by and ignoring how obvious your desperation was, you stretched up on your toes and proclaimed, “Then next week! Next week we’re going to New York. Can I see you again then?”

He seemed a little caught off guard by your insistence, but then he smiled his self-assured, comforting smile. “Of course! I’ll show you the best restaurants in town.”

Then he hugged you, and your heart skipped a beat. “But seriously, focus on your work, okay? I’ll keep in touch.”

You nodded, embracing him in return. “Yeah, okay. Be careful on your way home.”

He gently pulled away, and you hoped that the affection you felt radiate from him wasn’t fake, that even though you were so insignificant to his life, you meant something, anything, to him.

"I will. Have a good night, __________."

"Good night," you whispered, watching with growing anxiety as he gradually blended into the night. You placed a palm to your chest, chanting inwardly that you would not be forced to endure the world without him ever again.

To continue, go to, “The City of Nostalgic Dreams”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * In 2014 the G8 expelled Russia and became the G7 as a result of the annexation of Crimea. While this story takes place in modern times, I don’t want to tack an exact year on it save for this indicator that this takes place after 2014. You can see this story as taking place in a world where COVID-19 didn’t happen or after vaccines have been widely distributed and everything’s returned to normal. I do not intend to even mention the pandemic because of it’s sensitive and political nature, and I originally came up with this story around 2018. This story is not a political one. I’m not here to lecture you, I’m here to have nostalgic fun. Thank you for understanding.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Hello, and welcome! To commemorate today’s announcement of Hetalia’s revival (not that it wasn’t always living in my heart), I’ve decided to post the prologue of my choose-your-own-adventure reader-insert Hetalia series! This is a VERY large project I am undertaking out of sheer passion, and the nature of the beast requires multiple chapters to be uploaded at once, so unfortunately I cannot guarantee an upload schedule. Despite that, I hope you will follow and support me in this endeavor.
> 
> Additionally, there are just too many characters in Hetalia to soundly include romantic routes for all of them - for now. Honestly I have been in the Hetalia fandom for so long (going on a decade now, with only a brief two-year fan fiction writing hiatus) I wouldn’t totally rule out the possibility of future routes. With that said, for now this series will only encompass the “main” eleven characters of the Axis and Allies: Italy, Romano, Germany, Prussia, Japan, America, Canada, England, France, Russia, and China.
> 
> Please tell me what you think! There’s nothing I love more than comments.


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